


The Night is Dark

by goddity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, really vaguely though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddity/pseuds/goddity
Summary: Ratchet hasn't been sleeping. Again. Drift is determined to find out why.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [d0nkarnage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0nkarnage/gifts).



> i fucked the timeline, who cares, look at these gays
> 
> you might think: wow, you write a lot of fic for your wife  
> and you would be right

Ratchet was tired, incomprehensibly, indescribably, insurmountably tired. He didn’t quite recall when he had last felt awake or fully functional, but he knew he was tired now. Washing his hands under a stream of hot industrial solvent made him ache for rest. However, a medic’s work was never truly done, and an interrupted recharge cycle was nearly worse than not having one. He would never vocalize this when he could instead just take circuit boosters to push himself through another cycle of consciousness, but Ratchet was certain to keep the excuse on hand just in case it ever came up.

Today had not been exceptionally different from any other; patients came and went for routine checkups and for arbitrary repairs that he resented having to perform when every mech was so damn aggressive. He’d replaced the joints for Whirl’s claws more frequently than he’d recharged on this journey. Not that, admittedly, he’d taken much time to recharge. 

It was starting to take it’s toll. 

His joints ached and occasionally he noticed this unusual static in the peripherals of his optics, nothing that he could be bothered to be terribly concerned about when there was work to be done. Unfortunately, there was always work to be done aboard _The Lost Light_. Arbitrary injuries and chronic conditions and addicts going through withdrawals and idiots fighting in the hallways - Ratchet didn’t have time to fix his own problems when there were people who needed care more. Granted, First Aid was perfectly capable of handling most of the issues on his own but the mechs on board still didn’t trust him given the whole Pharma thing, which he understood. It would have been nice if First Aid was a bit more confident too, at least enough that he would stop turning around and asking Ratchet for help at every turn. First Aid spent too much time second guessing and not enough time actually working. 

He sighed, more for himself than the empty medibay, noticing that for once it actually appeared to be in the medibay. The beds were empty, and it seemed that First Aid had already left to recharge, leaving him alone with a surprising lack of things to do. The medibay could always use cleaning, but sterilization happened after every patient and made the process go rather quickly. Smooth surfaces were wiped down with one-use cloths, which were then tossed into contamination bags, where they’d stay until Ratchet had the time to sterilize them for a second time and replace the stock. Tools were already soaking in disinfectant and those that weren’t were comfortably placed on the drying rack, the dry ones moved into the appropriate canisters until they were needed again. What he had hoped would be several hours of work shaped up to less than _one_. 

Ratchet gathered up a few datapads, deciding that if the medibay was going to insist on being empty that there wasn’t much reason he couldn’t take the time to organize patient files from the comfort of his private quarters. While it was just a room attached to the medibay and not much of a migration, there was a certain comfort in being able to sit at a private desk in his private room.

The room was a lot less private when he entered to find Drift waiting for him.

“Finally,” Drift sounded relieved and outstretched a calm but eager field. “I was starting to think you’d just work yourself to death.”

“If there was enough work to do, I would.” Ratchet replied, shuffling past him and dropping the datapads on his desk before pulling out the chair and preparing to get to work. 

“Ratchet, you should take a break.” Drift almost sounded as if he was _insisting,_ despite the typical cheerful edge to his voice. Concern crept through his field, digging through every nook and cranny in Ratchet’s armor. “You haven’t relaxed in days, you haven’t taken a break, you haven’t recharged-”

“And how would _you_ know if I’ve recharged or not?” Ratchet knew that, even if he had recharged the cycle before, the slab would be cold by now. The nosy spiritualist really had no way of knowing. 

“Because, Ratchet,” Drift started sadly but matter-of-factly, “I’ve been waiting in here for you for about four days.”

Ratchet felt his intake bob. Certainly not his proudest moment. 

“So I _know_ you need to recharge and I know you’ve been ignoring it. I don’t even know how you’re still online, how you haven’t just… offlined from exhaustion.” Drift crossed his arms, wedging himself into the small space that Ratchet hadn’t filled between his frame and his desk, actively preventing Ratchet from getting to work. 

“I’ve got work to do, Drift. I didn’t have time for recharge and I don’t have time for it _now._ ” Ratchet made an attempt to elbow Drift out of the way, to no true avail. The ex-Decepticon had the advantage of rest and apt physical prowess. Ratchet’s wit might have been sharp but it wasn’t sharp enough to dissuade Drift from getting in the way. 

“Well, you’re just gonna have to make time, or someone’s gonna hear about it. First Aid, maybe? If he can’t go to you to fix a problem, he’ll go to Ultra Magnus. And we both know that he’s gonna be harder on you than I’m being.”

Ratchet groaned, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Go on then, scold me like I’m some kind of new-build.” 

Drift’s expression changed to something Ratchet supposed he could describe as compassionate. He leaned back onto Ratchet’s desk, lips lightly pursed. 

“Ratchet, I’m not mad I’m… I’m worried about you. How exactly are you staying awake like this?” Ratchet knew that Drift knew the answer. 

Drift knew more than the answer. Drift knew the side-effects, Drift knew the addiction, and Drift was the most qualified person on board to tell Ratchet that he shouldn’t have been ‘abusing’ circuit boosters. Drift might have known entirely what he was going to be talking about but Ratchet knew that he wasn’t going to be listening to whatever Drift said.

“Please tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

“So you’re willing to lie about it?” Drift sighed, perhaps a little too dramatically given the sincerity of his voice. “You _saw_ Dead End, you-you saw _me_ , you saw what using boosters like this can do to people. Why would you do this to yourself?”

Ratchet couldn’t meet the mech’s optics, letting his own rest on the small, red Autobot symbol that had made a home for itself on the speedster’s chassis. 

“Ratchet, you’re smarter than this. You’re better than this.” Ratchet flinched when he felt Drift’s hands cup either side of his helm, lifting it to make eye contact. “Promise me you’ll stop.”

“I can’t promise you that.” 

“Slag it, Ratchet.” Drift let go, letting the medic’s head drop.

“I need to get work done, I need to stay awake.”

Unfortunately, Drift was more observant than most mechs and Ratchet was tired enough to have paid very little attention to what he actually said.

“...is something troubling you, Ratchet?”

Drift was too patient and too kind for a mech like Ratchet. Always checking and being considerate, always speaking softly and minding each conversational step when he felt he needed to. He had a social finesse that Ratchet somewhat envied but had no patience to build at his age. Ratchet sighed, resigning to a shrug and a light toss of his servo.

“Nothing more than usual.”

“So something’s been bothering you for a while.” Drift slid off the desk, sidling to Ratchet’s side and making himself comfortable on the edge of Ratchet’s recently-unused berth. Typically, Ratchet didn’t like to have these sorts of conversations, not even with Drift. For some reason tonight felt different - maybe it was First Aid leaving early, maybe it was the empty medibay, maybe it was the dull buzz bouncing around his processor that refused to let him sleep. Maybe it was just Drift. Despite the pigheadedness that came with his spirituality, he always seemed to emit an unexplained miasma that calmed the old doctor. 

“Are you saying nothing troubles you, Drift?” Ratchet turned his chair to face the concerned speedster, hoping he could talk him in circles long enough that he’d let the issue go. He knew better than to think he actually would, but it was nice to hope.

“Plenty of things trouble me, Ratchet. But I talk to Rung, I talk to Rodimus… I talk to you. I didn’t go through everything I did so I could just fall back into bad habits. I don’t want to die anymore, Ratchet. It’s… been a long time since I felt like that.”

The younger mech pointedly tilted his helm, obviously prompting Ratchet to talk about potentially feeling suicidal. Ratchet had too much to do, he couldn’t just _die_ , not with so much to be done, not with so much left undone, not with amends to be made. 

“I’m fine, Drift.”

“I’m not going to stop worrying until you stop taking those circuit boosters, Ratchet.” Drift was a bit more forceful. “I-I just don’t get it! You’re so much smarter than this, you could lose your position over this! What if First Aid found out you were abusing substances. What if _Magnus_ found out? On top of you not sleeping and risking patient health, risking your own by stealing medical supplies and-”

“Magnus wouldn’t have the audacity to remove me from my position. If he had a concern for my health, he’d be smart enough to let me keep working.”

“Ratch, you’re going to work yourself into the afterspark.” Drift sighed, resting his helm in his palm and looking at the doctor. He’d been working himself ragged since Delphi, harder and longer than he used to. He was never at Swerve’s anymore, and after going a few days without even getting a comm about wanting to take shots or just have Drift come keep him company in the medibay while he cleaned up, he couldn’t help but get concerned. 

Apparently he’d been right to worry.

Ratchet had changed over the years, a less attentive mech might not have noticed. Drift, however, remembered a Ratchet from before the war. Drift remembered a Ratchet who had called him special _to his face_. Drift watched the way Ratchet rubbed a servo over his palm, rubbing at an ache that had to have subsided cycles ago when he replaced his hands. Pain still lurked under the red paint, but definitely not what had been there before. 

Drift remembered the younger Ratchet, the Ratchet who had opened a medical facility to help mechs just like Drift, down on their luck without a shanix to their names. A Ratchet who hadn’t worried about losing his hands, losing his job… Losing his way.

“Why don’t you just open up? Ratchet we’ve had enough spark-to-sparks, I know that… I felt like you trusted me enough to talk to me about these sort of things. I just… I just want to know that you’re okay, you know? I know you can’t be okay all the time, but to be cosmically okay, for a little while… It’d be nice to know that you’re okay.”

Ratchet sighed, partially defeated, partially thankful that Drift would vocalize such thoughtful emotions.

“I’m not really alright, Drift. I’m tired enough to be the oldest damn mech on this ship, and I…. I can’t stop thinking about Ambulon.” 

“From Delphi?”

Ratchet rubbed his temples, the ache that had been dull for a few days roaring with new life in his spark. 

“Not just Ambulon, but Ambulon as of late, anyway. I told you about what happened with Pharma, after you left.” Drift nodded, listening intently. “I… It’s _my_ fault that Ambulon died.”

“Ratchet-”

“I _made_ the bet Drift. I egged Pharma on, I knew his ego couldn’t take it, and because of me, Ambulon died. That’s why I put First Aid in charge. I shouldn’t have been running the risk of putting someone else in danger, and I did.”

Drift was silent. A comfortable, accepting silence. Drift didn’t often argue with Ratchet when he said things like this; they both knew when Ratchet was right. Ratchet didn’t always like being right but he liked that Drift never bothered to argue and tell him lies about what he felt.

“You didn’t do it to hurt anyone, Ratchet.”

“It doesn’t matter why I did it, Drift, it hurt someone. It cost him his life. Would we have all gotten away otherwise? Slag it, I don’t know. We could have all died if Ambulon hadn’t. But it wasn’t my choice to make. If I…. If I make that mistake again, if I gamble with my ego, how many lives can I lose, Drift? How many mechs have I killed with my carelessness?” 

Drift flinched when he heard the static leaking into Ratchet’s voice. 

“Ratchet, you were doing what you thought was right.” Drift found himself standing, moving to kneel in front of the other mech and rest his servos on his shoulders. “You weren’t trying to kill anyone.”

“I… I can’t save all of them Drift.” Ratchet’s voice was more static than vocalizer. Drift recognized the emotional bursts, the sharp flickering in his optics. Circuit boosters made _everything_ faster and louder and harder - but they never made anything fake. Ratchet had been carrying this weight.

“You can’t.”

“It… It doesn’t get easier to lose them, Drift.” Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose, no avail in the attempt to keep cleansing fluids from spilling from his optics. 

“I know.” Ratchet felt himself flinch in surprise when Drift pulled him to his chassis, hands gently caressing his helm and holding him close to his spark. Ratchet didn’t bother to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the speedster, letting his helm press into his chassis, listening to the thrum of his spark as Drift’s hand caressed the back of his helm. 

Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried over a patient. He’d cried so many nights in the Dead End, knowing that mechs there would be sent off to scrap heaps before someone came looking for them, knowing that the book he kept with their names would be the only record they had, knowing no one was going to mourn them except some damn bleeding-spark medic who had too many things going for him to complain about them. The ache in his spark had just been too much to bare. Ambulon had been the last straw, the terrors wouldn’t let him sleep after that.

Endless nightmares of being elbow deep in viscera, organs he’d never seen, his hands seizing up as he failed to perform a surgery, watching patient after patient die because of his incompetence, his ego…

He opened his mouth, he _tried_ to tell Drift, but nothing came out but a staticy, choked sob and more cleansing fluid. Drift helped him up a bit, moving him back towards his berth so he didn’t have to sit on the floor. Ratchet had little to say about the gesture after his first emotional outburst in what felt like millennia. Drift traced his fingers in small circles on the back of Ratchet’s helm, like he had a thousand times before. 

“Ratchet… you’re a wonderful doctor. There’s a reason people trust you with their lives, why so many people praise you so highly. There’s a reason for all of this, and I’m not saying it’s Primus. You’ve worked so long and so hard to be so good at what you do. I can’t tell you that you haven’t made mistakes, we all have. But you’ve never made a single choice to hurt someone as a doctor. You’ve never wanted to put someone at risk in your care.

“You’re going to lose more patients, it’s… an unfortunate reality. But every medic does. And… And no one blames you, Ratchet. You’ve never done anything less than your best for anyone.”

“Thanks..” The word was static and mumbles against the warm mech, his optics dimming the more that Drift talked. He wasn’t sure if he was actually thankful for the statement, but he was thankful that Drift talking kept him from having to talk.

Ratchet didn’t typically care for the sounds of a mech’s inner machinations. It reminded him of work, he could hear what was wrong with a mech just by listening against their armor. But Drift… listening to Drift was _soothing_. Drift had an even lull to his sounds, it sounded comfortable.

Drift was completely aware that Ratchet wasn’t listening to him speak, not unlike their usual conversations. Unlike usual, he could feel Ratchet relaxing. Booster highs went as quickly as they came, and to be overwhelmed with emotions like that was likely more than Ratchet had anticipated. The speedster did what seemed to be working, gently praising Ratchet and tracing over ridges on the medic’s helm, filling the space between with gentle little circles. 

Ratchet was so relaxed that Drift could have sworn he felt him ex-vent. 

Before Ratchet could muster the energy to argue with Drift, he felt his entire frame grow heavy. 

“Are you okay Ratchet?” Drift smiled gently, leaning against the wall to give Ratchet more of the berth. “A nod is okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

His processor was swimming and was already beginning to throb from all the tears and heat. He didn’t remember turning his fans on, or even getting the warning that they needed to be on, but they did little to relieve the impending pain. He’d have to avoid using circuit boosters to work through the pain in the morning. It wouldn’t be worth it to come crashing down like this the moment something went wrong.

Ratchet nodded, cheek against Drift’s chassis. His audials drank in the sounds of Drift, thankful to hear something other than spark monitors or the dull roar of patients with visitors. 

He felt so much calmer with Drift there. The miasma had started to absorb him, and the gentle embrace from Drift’s field was the kindest thing Ratchet could think of at the moment. Drift’s field dripped with love and compassion and support, and it was everything Ratchet wanted in a moment like this. Ratchet, honestly, had never thought there could be something positive about a moment like this. 

“Hey…” The word was slurred and sloppy, and didn’t even sound much like a word when it came out. 

Drift had been paying as much attention as he usually did to Ratchet - which meant he understood it perfectly. “Yeah?”

Ratchet tried speaking but had little success formulating a cohesive statement, instead hoping to alleviate the awkwardness with a commlink instead. Instead, he ended up sending a garbled combination of symbols to Drift via commlink.

“...okay?” Drift chuckled, absolutely clueless of what he was supposed to make out of the message.

“Stay.” Was all Ratchet could manage.

It was enough.

“Of course, Ratchet. You hardly have to ask.”

If he had been a bit more coherent, Ratchet would have mentioned that Drift had been just mingling in his room for several days and he didn’t imagine he was much in a hurry to leave now, but he opted to just offline his optics and relax in the mech’s lap. 

Drift relaxed himself, letting his servos take root at the lines in the back of Ratchet’s neck, gently massaging until Ratchet comfortably entered recharge, free of terrors for the first time in years.


End file.
